Unwound
by Marukaitechikurcute
Summary: When Italy's mind starts to merge with the one of another version of himself, he unknowingly loses his grip on sanity. Things begin to intrigue him, things no sane person, or country, should ever be fascinated by, and for those close to him, that is a very, very bad thing.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

It had all started with a simple fight. Not one Italy was involved in, of course. He had been watching from the Allies and Axis conference table, worried for both England and Big Brother France's safety when it happened. Usually, when their usual squabbling got physical, he would cry and urge Germany to break it up. But not today.

"For the last bloody time, I am not the black sheep of Europe! Stop calling me that!" England growled, punching France square in the jaw. The Frenchman hissed in pain and glared at him, tenderly pressing his hand to the injury, which was already beginning to swell.

"My apologies, Angleterre," France spat, in no way sounding apologetic, "I forget how much you detest hearing the truth." He retaliated with a punch just as, if not more, venomous.

The quiet crunching of cartilage was followed by England's cry of pain, the hit having landed directly on his nose, effectively breaking it. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and doubtfully the last.

Italy had been watching with fascination as England's face contorted in pain, his eyes widening a little as blood trickled down the Englishman's hands. The way his emerald eyes blazed with agony and fury was slightly hypnotic, and part of him itched to make them burn brighter. France grimaced as he held his cheek, his brow creased, his expression far more beautiful than a smile ever could be.

England lunged angrily at France, and Italy's heart fluttered a little as he heard a pained gasp of breath as France hit the ground, the air having been forcefully expelled from his lungs due to the fall.

"Hey, stop fighting!" America called out. They ignored him. England instead grabbed France's pristine white shirt, his nose dripping blood on it, and slammed his head down on his face.

"Merde!" France's strangled cry came, his voice pained. He squired, trying to throw England off him.

Before either of them could continue the fight, America seized England, yanking him off France, who was bleeding as profusely as his adversary was.

"I sodding hate you!" Arthur sputtered, not bothering to struggle against America, as he was far stronger. Having nothing to staunch its flow, the blood from his nose was seeping over his lips and down his chin, where it leisurely traveled down his neck to stain his shirt.

France carefully rose to his feet, grimacing and gently dabbing at his bleeding nose with a handkerchief he pulled from his front pocket. He looked up, meeting England's glare with one equally as seething, but also slightly sad. "I hate you, too, mon cher."  
Germany sighed heavily, his jaw clenched in annoyance. "If Francis and Arthur are done trying to kill each other," he shot them each a brief glare, "we'll continue with the meeting."

"Their noses are broken," Japan pointed out, looking a little concerned. "That should be fixed as soon as possible."

"I'll do it!" America volunteered, letting go of England in his excitement. "I'm the hero, and the hero always helps when people are hurt!"

"There's no bloody way I'm letting you play doctor." England stated, straightening his clothes out, opting to do that rather than attack France with his sudden freedom from America's grasp.

America opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Russia. "I've had a lot of experience with broken noses!" He smiled a little too happily. "I'll fix you two, da?"

"Non, non, non," France said quickly, panicking a bit. "We can go by hospitals on our way home."

"It'll hurt more if you wait." China stated. "You should let Ivan do it."

"Out of all the dumb things I've heard today, that is the stupidest." Romano rolled his eyes, everything about him giving off his 'I'm one hundred percent done with you moronic idiotas' aura. "Asking Russia to fix an injury is like feeding someone who's starving to death some of England's scones. It's only going to make things worse and probably kill them."

"Excuse me!" England gasped, offended. "I'll have you know that my scones are-"

"Romano does have a point...I don't think letting Russia to do it is a good idea." America reluctantly agreed, interrupting England.

"I'll do it." A soft, whisper of a voice offered. Italy looked to see where the voice had come from and saw a nation he hadn't noticed before. He looked almost identical to America, if you disregarded the length of his hair and the strange little curl.

England rolled his eyes. "Alfred, already said I wasn't going to let you-"

"That's Canada." France said defensively. "You, of all people, should know. He was your colony."

England opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Germany. "Go ahead, Amer-…Canada, was it…?"

Canada nodded sheepishly, his expression suggesting that he wasn't used to being addressed directly by other nations. Setting Kumajirou down, he stood, walking up to England first.

"It's going to hurt." He warned, his voice quiet and a little apprehensive.

"I know. This isn't my first broken nose." England sighed. He gave Canada a concerned glance. "Is this your first time fixing one…?"

Canada shook his head. "Hockey sticks don't always just hit the puck, and the puck doesn't always go where intended." He shook out his right hand a bit, preparing to reset the displaced facial feature. "Normally, it would be too swollen to do anything, but it seems it's already healing a bit, so the sooner we do this, the better. Are you ready?"

England took a deep breath and nodded. Canada lifted his hand to England's face, bending his fore and middle fingers and placing one on either side of his nose.

"On a count of three, all right?" He said, sounding rather calm. "One…two!" On the second number, Canada jerked his hand down fluidly, a harsh crack echoing through the silent conference room as his nose popped back into place.

England cried out in pain, stumbling over to the nearest solid object to lean on for support, which was America.

Italy gasped softly, leaning forward a bit to see his face better. The way he grimaced was quite interesting, and he wanted to see more.

"You okay, dude?" Alfred asked, his voice unusually soft.

"Splendid." England groaned, one hand on his face and the other on America's shoulder.

"Sorry," Canada apologized quietly, even though the pain was inevitable. He turned and walked toward France, wincing a little. "Ready, Papa?"

France's tense expression softened a bit and he nodded, though he looked extremely uneasy after seeing England's pain.

"Take deep breaths and don't flinch away, otherwise I might have to do it again, and doing it a second time is even less comfortable." Matthew said. France nodded, and the Canadian lifted his hand and repeated the same motion he had done with England.

Italy almost laughed as France's nose cracked back into place, and it was all he could do not to grin when he heard his cries of pain.

"Merde, ça fait mal!" France exclaimed, switching to his native language in his distress.

"Sorry, Francis." Canada apologized, glancing back and forth between him and England. "Sorry, Arthur."

"It's all right," England assured him, letting go of America and wiping involuntary tears off his cheeks. "Thank you, Canada."

"Merci, Matthew." France said a moment later, though a little distracted by the lingering pain from having his nose reset.

"I'm happy to help." Canada said quietly, smiling.

"Now since that's taken care of, let's continue the meeting." Germany sighed, rubbing his temples as if to alleviate a headache. "The next person to interrupt without first raising their hand will face consequences, understood?"

Everyone nodded. Italy did, too, even though he knew it was an empty threat. Germany was nice, he would never hurt anyone! Italy's smile faltered a bit at the thought, almost disappointed by it.

The meeting picked up where it left off, and as usual, Italy didn't pay attention. He was much more interested in his thoughts, which strayed to matters unlike the ones his mind frequented. Instead of daydreaming about pasta, girls, and cats, images of France and England's faces contorted in pain flashed through his mind, the memory of their screams echoing melodically in his ears.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello! All right, since this fic is already complete, I'm going to upload a chapter every few days, if that's good! (There's ten) I hope you enjoyed chapter one, and I hope you enjoy the rest, if you're intrigued enough to follow! Leave a review? (:**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"Ve, Lovi, you've been so grumpy lately." Italy frowned a bit, tugging on his brother's sleeve. "You've been in a bad mood since the meeting the other day. Is everything all right, fratello?"

"Everything's fine, you damn bastard." Romano rolled his eyes, not bothering to look up from the sauce he was stirring.

"Romanooo," Italy called out, grinning. "I know what'll make you feel better!"  
He sighed heavily. "If you say pasta, I'm going to punch you. I'm making it now. Be patient."

"Nope!" Italy stepped closer to Romano and latched onto him, hugging him tightly. "You need hugs!"

"Not your damn hug therapy again…." Romano groaned, trying to shove him off. "You know how much I hate that!"

"Ve, if you hate it, why do you let me?" Italy laughed, hugging him tighter.

"I'm trying to push you off!"

"No, you're pretending to try to push me off." He giggled.

Romano's cheeks flushed slightly. "You're my stupid fratellino, what do you know?"

"I know that you secretly love hugs!"

"I do not!"

Italy giggled.

"I said I don't!" He protested.

"Ve, I know you do!" Italy grinned, hugging him tighter.

Romano's efforts to push him off became more genuine and his brow creased in discomfort. "Stop it, you're hurting me now."  
"Hm?" Italy hummed, not loosening his grip.

"I said that you're hurting me, Veneziano. Let go."

Italy sighed and let go, rather disappointed. People were fun to squeeze. "Mi dispiace." He apologized, feigning a look of sadness.

Romano sighed and looked at him, his hazel eyes annoyed. "You aren't going to smile again until I hug you, are you?"

Italy shook his head, grinning inwardly. Romano sighed heavily again and turned around to face him, his arms extended flaccidly.

"Then come here, damn it. Frowning isn't your thing, it's mine."

Italy grinned and stepped forward, hugging him a little less forcefully as before. He didn't want to have him think anything was wrong, not when things were just starting to get fun.

Romano sighed yet again, and patted his back. "All right, that's enough, Feli. Dinner's almost done, and I'm starving."

"Ve, okay." Italy let go, smiling. "Should I get plates?"

"Sì, whatever." Romano shrugged, turning back to tend to the bubbling pasta sauce and pot of boiling pasta. Italy nodded and sang to himself as he went to get plates out of the cupboard. Dancing a little bit, he hopped across the kitchen's floorboards, playing a little game of hopscotch with himself. When he reached the cupboard, he took two plates out and hopped toward the table.

Due to the fact that he was wearing socks, carrying plates with the hands he'd normally be using for balance, and jumping across a newly waxed floor, Italy didn't get far before he slipped. He landed on his backside, the plates following soon after and crashing on either side of him into several razor sharp fragments.

"Waah!" He exclaimed, startled. Romano spun around, his eyes wide with slight panic and concern.

"Merda, Feli! Stay there and don't move, I'm going to get the broom." He tossed the spoon he was holding onto the stove and hurried off to find the broom.

Italy sat upright, wincing as the glass shards dug into his palms. He lifted a hand to his face, frowning at the pieces of ceramic sticking out of his flesh. As he stared at it, his eyes brimming with tears, he realized something.

Feliciano liked the way it hurt. Not in a creepy, masochistic way, but in a more mesmerizing way, and he craved more. Using his other hand, which also had glass protruding from it, he pushed a shard deeper into his palm, wincing and smiling at the same time. It hurt, but it also felt good. The pain was sharp and harsh, but was accompanied by a rather pleasant tingling sensation that made him giggle a bit.

Romano returned a few seconds later, almost dropping the broom when he saw Italy picking at his hands, which had quite a lot of glass in them.

"Chigi!" He exclaimed. "Veneziano! I told you not to move!"  
"Ve, I'm sorry!" Italy cried, now aware of the tears streaming down his cheeks. Why he hadn't noticed them before, he didn't know.

"Damn it, now you're hurt." Romano scolded, walking over with the broom and sweeping away enough glass for him to safely stand and walk away without getting any in his feet. "Come on, stand up."

Italy nodded, sniffling. He stood, almost falling again, as he wasn't able to use his hands. Romano steadied him and helped him to the bathroom, where they kept the first aid kit.

"Sit." He ordered, pointing to the closed toilet.

"Ve, Lovi-"

"No whining, damn it!" Romano huffed, grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink. "Sit, Feliciano."

Italy sighed, not wanting his fratello to worry about him so much, but complied anyways. "It's a minor injury; it shouldn't take very long to heal at all!"

"It won't heal right if there's glass in it, idiota." Romano rolled his eyes, opening the box and taking out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. "Hold your hands over the sink."

Italy furrowed his brow, having accidentally injured himself enough times to know what the evil liquid did when poured on open wounds. "Ve, that isn't necessary! I'm a nation; it'll heal on its own. It won't even scar."

"It won't if there's anything in there to interfere with the healing process." Romano answered, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

"But it'll hurt, fratello!" He whined.

"Don't be a bambino," Romano groaned. "It doesn't even hurt that much." Grabbing his wrists, he pulled them over the sink and dumped a generous amount of the liquid over his brother's hands.

Italy grimaced, inhaling sharply at the pain. Though, the sting didn't last long, it soon faded and was replaced by the pleasant tingling, just like earlier when he first got hurt.

"See? It isn't bad at all." Romano rolled his eyes and started to take the glass out of his hands, being very gentle, despite his bitter attitude.

Italy whined nonetheless, complaining about being hungry and bored as his brother carefully plucked the fragments of ceramic from his skin.

"Stop whining, Feliciano." Romano huffed. "We would be eating dinner right now if you hadn't been jumping around the kitchen like a damned frog on crack."

He laughed a little. "It's fun!"

Romano rolled his eyes. "I don't care how 'fun' it is, we'll run out of plates if you don't stop." He took out the last piece of glass and tossed it into the trashcan with the others, sighing heavily.

"Ve, done?" Italy asked, peering at his hands.

Romano nodded, feeling his palms for any shards he might have missed before wrapping them in a bandage. When he was done, he put everything away and shoved the box back into the cabinet.

"Now let's go…." He trailed off, his eyes widening in fear. "Dio mio, I forgot about the pasta!" Without another word, Romano dashed out of the bathroom and flew to the kitchen with such speed, Italy was surprised he didn't break through the sound barrier.

Rather worried about the pasta as well, he followed, glancing briefly at his feet and smiling back at his happy pizza socks that Japan had gotten him for his birthday earlier that year. Just when he was about to enter the kitchen, a horrified, unnaturally high pitched screech startled him.

"I've ruined it!" Romano cried, appalled. He stood in front of the stove, holding a single, deformed noodle in his palm, almost on the verge of tears.

"Ve, it can't be that bad!" Italy said, walking over to assess the damage as well. He poked at the noodle in Romano's hand, shrieking when he felt how unnaturally squishy it was. "What do we do?"  
"There might be enough flour left to make a pizza…."

"Fratello, no, we can't have pizza on pasta night! That's worse than having pasta on pizza night!" Italy exclaimed, rather shocked that his own brother had suggested such a blasphemous thing.

"Well then, what do you propose we do, idiota?" Romano answered, dropping the noodle back into the pot with its severely over-boiled kindred.

Italy began wailing in virtually indecipherable Italian, Romano joining in soon after, arguing that they could just go out to eat instead. Feliciano, having been looking forward to eating his big brother's homemade pasta, adamantly refused that idea, thus beginning another one of their quarrels.

* * *

After almost an hour of bickering, the evening ended with both of the Vargas brothers passed out on the couch, exhausted from crying and petty squabbling, the former mostly on Feliciano's part, and the latter mostly on Lovino's. It had been a rather chaotic evening, but, though one of them would never admit it, those were their favorite kind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Italy woke surprisingly early for having a day off, likely because he had fallen asleep earlier than usual and didn't own the most comfortable couch in the world. Remembering that Germany was coming over for dinner that night and they had to go to the store to get ingredients, he jumped up with excitement and rushed to the kitchen to make breakfast so Romano wouldn't be in an even worse mood than normal when he woke him up against his will.

Cracking eggs into a pan and putting bread in the toaster, Italy began to hum to himself as he prepared breakfast, making sure to brew a pot of coffee for Romano, knowing how grumpy he got when there wasn't any.

Before long, everything was plated and set on the table, and Italy wasted no time in going to wake his brother, who slumbered, unmoving, on the couch.

"Wake up, fratello!" He chimed, shaking his shoulder a bit.

Romano groaned and turned over, muttering a string of curses depicting what he thought he should go do to himself.

"Ve, don't be like that, Lovi!" Italy whined, shaking his shoulder again, a little rougher than before.

"No." He growled.

"I made breakfast," Feliciano said in a singsong voice. "And I made you coffee!"

"I don't care. Leave me alone, idiota." Romano hissed.

"But Ludwig's coming over and we need to plan dinner!" He whined, shaking his shoulder harder.

"Damn it, Veneziano, stop, that hurts!"

"Ve, not until you get up." Italy grinned, a little excited by the slight pain in his brother's voice.

Romano, shooting him a glare of utmost contempt, stood. "Happy?" he snapped.

Italy grinned and nodded, practically dragging his brother to the kitchen. Romano shoved him off and walked there without his aid, his brow furrowed in irritation. Plopping down at the table, he took a large swig of coffee, which, thankfully, had cooled enough to not scorch his mouth and piss him off even more.

"Ve," Italy hurriedly distributed food onto their plates, singing himself again, a little song he'd made up out of boredom long ago. "Draw a circle, that's the Earth! Draw a circle, that's the Earth! Draw a circle, that's the-"

"If you dare sing that damned song one more time, I'm not going to let you have pasta for a month." Romano barked.

Italy sat down in his seat and immediately fell silent, the threat of not eating pasta for that long not even remotely worth finishing the song.

"Finally," Romano sighed with relief. "Silence."

"Oh!" Italy exclaimed, launching the bit of egg on his fork across the kitchen in his excitement. "I almost forgot to ask you! What are we going to make for Ludwig for dinner tonight?"

"Anything with a generous amount of arsenic will be fine." He muttered under his breath.

Italy continued, not having heard his remark. "What about wurst and potatoes?"

* * *

Romano abruptly slammed his hands palm down on the table. "Hell no! If that potato eating bastard is going to come here, he's going to eat Italian cuisine if he likes it or not!" He scowled and angrily bit into a piece of toast, clearly not having gotten over being forced to agree to have Germany over for the evening. How Veneziano had wormed him into doing so was beyond him. He was probably drunk when he signed the damn consent form he made. Knowing how clever his brother could be when he really wanted something, that was probably what happened.

"Let's see what they have fresh at the market and decide then." Italy smiled, proceeding to hurry and finish his breakfast so they could leave.

Romano ate quickly as well, knowing that with how excited he was about this whole thing, he was likely going to be dragged out of the house the second Italy was done.

Unsurprisingly, that was exactly what happened. Italy had, quite literally, dragged Romano out of the house, barely giving him time to get his shoes on and grab his wallet between finishing breakfast and leaving the house. Despite his grumbling, the dragging didn't stop once they got outside. In fact, it probably wouldn't have stopped until they reached the market if Feliciano hadn't spotted a group of girls when they got into town.

"Fratello, look, girls!" Italy exclaimed, letting go of his arm and running over to them.

Romano groaned and followed him, annoyed at how easily his brother got distracted.

"Ciao, bella!" Italy beamed, shaking each of their hands and repeating the phrase each time. "I'm Luciano! Ve, it's so nice to meet all of you!"

Romano grabbed his arm and dragged him away, not giving the rather surprised girls a chance to react.

"What the hell, idiota?" He scolded. "We're out to get ingredients for dinner, not to flirt!"

"Mi dispiace!" Italy apologized quickly. "They were just so pretty, I couldn't help myself!"

"They weren't pretty enough to forget your own name, idiota." Romano scowled.

Italy looked at him confusedly. "What do you mean?"  
"You said your name was Luciano. Your human name is Feliciano." He raised an eyebrow at him.

"I must have gotten too excited and mixed it up." Italy laughed.

Romano shrugged it off, and he and Feliciano continued to the market, blissfully oblivious to the horrors that awaited him when they returned home.

* * *

"Damn it, Feliciano, stop dancing, singing, and cutting up vegetables at the same time! You're going to hurt yourself, idiota!" Romano glared at him, kneading pasta angrily.

"Ve, but it's so fun!" Italy grinned. "Join me, Lovino!"

"Hell no!" He scowled. "You're already making me not kill the potato bastard, there's no way I'm going to dance and sing with you. Hell. No."

"In my right hand is a white flag," Italy held up the knife in his hand. "In my left hand is-" he stopped midsentence, dropping the knife on the floor and grasping his head, grimacing in pain.

"Damn it, idiota, I told you to stop-" Romano turned, his expression shifting from annoyance to fear as he rushed to his side. "Feli?"

Italy groaned and dropped to his knees, clutching his head and moaning. "No, no, no, no, no…."

"Feli, what's wrong?" Romano demanded, his voice breaking.

Italy shook his head quickly, whimpering quietly. There was a sharp pain stabbing behind his eyes, and it was growing stronger with each breath.

"Feli!" Romano shook his shoulders frantically.

With a strangled grunt, Italy fell onto his back, completely limp. Romano stared at him in horror for an elongated moment before he could react. He knelt on the floor, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch his brother's face with one hand, the other clamped over his mouth. "Fratellino…." He murmured, his eyes brimming with tears. "Wake up!" He drew back his hand and slapped him in the hopes that it would startle him awake.

Though Romano had hoped it would work, he didn't expect it to work so efficiently, and was quite shocked when Italy sat upright, gasping for breath, his eyes wide.

Romano sighed with relief, and then burned with anger. "What the hell happened?!" he shouted, grabbing his brother's shirt and yanking him upright into a sitting position.

Italy opened his eyes, staring at Romano with an all-too-cheerful gleam. In his distress, Lovino didn't notice that Italy's eyes were no longer brown, but a dark, eerie shade of magenta.

"Ve, sorry, fratello!" He laughed a little, combing back his hair with his fingers.

"What the hell happened?" Romano repeated, worried and quite upset.

Italy ignored the question, eyeing the knife on the floor. Slowly, as to not be noticed, he reached for it.

"Hey, idiota, I asked you a damn question! You scared the hell out of me; I at least deserve an answer as to why!"

"Hm?" Italy curled his fingers around the knife and looked into Romano's eyes. "You want to why I fell over?"

"No sh-" He was cut off by a sharp gasp, his eyes widening in shock as Italy lifted the knife and plunged it deep into his abdomen before jerking it out with a wet squelch. Romano cried out in pain and collapsed on the floor, clutching his wound as his face draining of all color.

Italy tossed the knife away, dropping down next to his brother, staring at his face, grinning as he watched it contort in pain.

"Ve, Flavi, you look so cute like this!" He giggled. "You should smile more often."

"Feli-Feliciano, what are you d-" Romano wasn't able to finish his sentence, as Italy placed a finger firmly over his lips.

"No talking. It's annoying." He smiled when there was no reply. "That's better." Italy stood and walked over to the phone, dialing Germany's number. "We don't want any unwanted visitors disrupting our fun, do we?"  
Germany picked up moments later. "Hallo?"

"Ciao, Lutzy!" He chirped. "Ve, our boss just called us and said there's an emergency and we have to come in right away, so dinner tonight won't work out."

"Oh." Germany said, somehow sounding both disappointed and relieved. "Well, I hope everything's all right."

"Everything's fine." Italy smiled, glancing at Romano, who was struggling to get away. "I have to go. Arrivederci!"

"Auf Wiedersehen."

With that, Italy hung up, tossing the phone over his shoulder and walking over to Romano, who had almost made a yard away from where he started. He frowned sadly.

"Ve, what's wrong, Romano? Don't you want to have fun with me?"

Romano didn't reply, but struggled to get away from him even more.

Italy laughed. "You're so happy, you're dancing! You look like a cute little worm, fratello!" He drew his foot back and kicked him as hard as he could in the head, effectively knocking him out.

Smiling, Italy knelt down to pat his head. "Aw, you got too tired and fell asleep." He grabbed his arms and started dragging his unconscious body toward his bedroom. "Ve, that's okay, you'll wake up soon and then we can have fun again!"

Italy kicked the bedroom door open and pulled Romano's limp body to his bed, grunting with effort as he somehow managed to hoist him up onto the mattress. Ripping off the top sheet, he started to tear it into long, thick strips. When that was done, he took the strips and securely tied Romano's arms and legs to the head and footboards of the bed. Nodding proudly, Italy hurried to the kitchen, grabbing every knife he could before practically flying back to Romano's bedroom, giggling with excitement.

When he entered, he saw that Romano was awake and struggling to break free of his bonds.

"Ve, you're awake!" He exclaimed, setting the knives on the bed and hugging him tightly.

Romano hissed, as the action jarred his wound, which still felt like it was on fire. He watched his brother with wide, terrified eyes, paralyzed with fear.

Italy sighed happily and let him go, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling adorably. "Ve, I love you, fratello."

"F-Feliciano, stop it. This-this isn't f-funny." Romano choked out, his body shuddering with fear.

Italy's smile disappeared, his magenta eyes narrowing in anger. "What did I tell you about talking?" he asked, his usually cheerfully affable aura shifting to something much darker. Grabbing a short, but very sharp knife, he rested its tip roughly an inch below his right eye. "No talking." He growled.

"Stop!" Romano pleaded, his eyes brimming with tears of panic.

"No talking!" Italy barked, not hesitating a single moment as he pressed the blade into his brother's flesh, dragging it downward and to the left, stopping just before he reached his chin. His smile returned as he saw the skin open up, and gasped with delight as he watched it begin to bleed.

Romano cried out in pain, writhing against his bonds. "Veneziano, stop!" He gasped between attempts to break free. "I'm your fratello, please, stop!"

"Shh…." Italy hushed him, pressing the bloody knife to his lips and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "One more word and I'll cut out your tongue."

Romano gasped softly in terror and nodded in comprehension, hoping it would satisfy him and therefore make him stop. How mistaken he had been. How terribly, terribly mistaken.

Italy's lips pulled upwards into a grin and he patted his head. "Good, fratello, you're learning!" He took the knife in his hand and cut off Lovino's shirt, looking at his virtually unscarred chest, save for the stab wound he'd made a few minutes ago. He dropped the knife in his hand and grasped a bigger one, beaming at Romano with excitement.

"Ve, you can't talk, but you can sing all you want! We're far enough away from the city that no one will hear you." Italy encouraged, not wasting another moment before pressing the knife to his chest and carving deep red ravines into his smooth, tan skin.

Romano arched his back and screamed for all he was worth, tears mingling with the blood on his face and dripping onto the mattress in a horrific duet.

Italy smiled with glee as Romano sang, relishing the sound as it rang through the air like chimes in the wind. It made his heartbeat increase with excitement, and he plunged the knife into his brother's chest, craving to hear more.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey, I'm sorry it took me so long to update, things have been crazy and I haven't gotten the chance to until now. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed chapter three! Leave a review? Thanks so much for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Romano woke the next morning, groaning in agony before he so much as opened his eyes. His entire body throbbed in unison, every single one of his injuries burning with pain in a horrific correspondence.

Last night had been hell on Earth. Thankfully, he passed out an hour into the torture, but now that he was awake, he realized just how much trouble he was in and wished he'd never woken.

Romano opened his eyes and lifted his head a bit to look at his body, which he saw was littered with gashes of varying depths and lengths. They hadn't healed much due to how many of them there were, and as he laid his head back again, he prayed that Spain would rescue him before things got any worse. But as the door to his bedroom opened, his hopes of being saved were overwhelmed by a terror that chilled him to the bone.

"Ve, good morning, fratello!" Italy chirped happily. "I hope you slept well."

Romano opened his mouth to plead for him to let him go when he remembered last night's threat. 'One more word and I'll cut out your tongue.' He chose to remain silent.

"If you're hungry, I made pasta!" He grinned, sitting on the edge of the bed and poking his cheek as if nothing was wrong.

The cut carved down his face was gently being prodded at by the very fingers that put it there, and though it hurt, it scared him far more. Romano shook his head, trying to shrink away from his touch despite the ropes still holding his body in place.

"Ve, are you sure? You look tired and a little food will help you keep up your strength." Italy said, his eyebrows creased ever so slightly in concern, as they always did when he didn't think his brother was eating enough.

Romano shook his head again, utterly horrified at how normal Feliciano was acting. He had to glance down at his body, needing visual proof to confirm that he hadn't imagined what had happened. Unfortunately, the wounds were still there.

Italy sighed and patted his head. Grabbing a glass of water from the nightstand, he held the straw to Romano's lips, smiling softly. "Here, you need water."

Romano drank thirstily, his eyes not leaving his brother's all the while for fear he would do something. Italy's irises were still that unnatural shade of magenta, and were wide open. As Romano cautiously watched his brother, he noticed that not only did he have his eyes open, but also that he wasn't blinking half as often as a person should. It was a miniscule detail that probably shouldn't have bothered him, but for some reason, he was utterly terrified by it.

"Ve, you were really thirsty, huh, fratello?" He smiled, standing, holding the empty glass carefully. "I'll be right back!"

The second Italy left, Romano glanced around frantically, desperate to find something that could help him free himself. All the knives had been cleaned and conveniently placed out of his reach. He shivered and looked away, his skin tingling at the memories their shapes brought back. He was trying to forget why his entire body hurt, and looking at the knives was only a sick reminder.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat?" Italy asked again, startling Romano. He had appeared so suddenly. He nodded, far too scared to even think about eating now.

"All right. Let me know when you are, okay?" He said softly, patting his shoulder, either ignoring or simply not noticing his pained grimace.

"V-Veneziano…." Romano choked out, unable to bring himself to say his human name.

Italy's eye twitched. "What, Flavi?"

"Please let me go," he pleaded, "please."

Italy sighed heavily and sat on the edge of his bed again, looking at him with a stern expression. "No."

"Please-"

"No!" He shouted, standing in his anger. "And don't ask again!"  
"Please don't kill me…." Romano whimpered, too petrified to care that he was begging.

"Kill you?" Italy looked at him sadly. "Oh, fratello, I swear, I won't ever kill you!"  
Romano sighed a little in relief, though his brother's next words made him wish he hadn't promised such a thing.

"Ve, of course I won't kill you!" He smiled. "Then I wouldn't be able to play with you anymore."

Italy was holding a knife that seemed to have materialized out of thin air, and grinning with mirth, he stabbed it into Romano's heart.

"No, no, I want to keep you alive. I want you to sing and dance as I paint your body with red. I want you to smile more, fratello." He giggled a bit and twisted the knife in deeper, making Romano scream in agony. "My goal isn't to kill you, no! I want to see just how far I can push you before you lose your mind."

Italy sharply yanked the knife out of Romano's chest, and he cried out in pain. Each beat of his heart was pure anguish, as it continued to work despite having been stabbed, only aggravating the injury.

"Ve, of course I don't want you to die." Italy repeated, looking at him fondly, his eyes twinkling as he writhed in pain. "I want you to keep smiling."

Romano shuddered with fear and agony, his hazed mind somehow forming a coherent thought, one that made him want to beg for mercy. He was a nation, and nations were nearly impossible to kill, which meant the torture wasn't going to kill him. Romano was going to have to endure every second of it, knowing that no matter what Italy did to him, he wasn't going to die.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was reaaally short, for which I profusely apologize! I hope you enjoyed it anyways! Leave a review, please? (:**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Spain looked up at the bright Italian sky and beamed, inhaling the fresh morning air deeply. It had been far too long since he visited Italy, and until now, he hadn't realized how much he had missed the country, and not just because of Romano…though that was a large part of it.

It had been several weeks since he'd heard from the angry little Italian, and even longer since he'd seen him. For some reason, he didn't attend yesterday's world meeting, which was strange, as it had been in Italy. Feliciano had said he was exhausted from work and had to stay home, hence why Spain was coming with a basket of fresh tomatoes for him to help him feel better.

Romano loved it when Spain brought him tomatoes, even if he still yelled at him and exercised his wide range of vulgarities on him. Though he was oblivious to most everything, if there was one thing Antonio would always notice, it was Lovino's expression when he was happy. He still scowled, it was his default expression, after all, but it was less prominent and his perfect, hazel eyes revealed all the emotions he couldn't form into words. Spain had no idea what emotions they were, but he didn't mind that at all, he was content just to see him happy.

Crossing his fingers in the hopes that Romano would be home, Spain rang the doorbell, waiting patiently. Thankfully, he didn't have to stand there long, as Italy opened the door a minute or so after he rang the bell.

"Ve, ciao, Spain!" He grinned, virtually tackling him with a hug.

"Hola, Feli!" Spain smiled and hugged the adorable Italian back. "Is Lovino home?"  
Italy let go and shook his head. "Fratello's at the market getting stuff for dinner."

"Ah," he smiled, "would it be all right if I stayed here and waited for him? I'd like to see him, it's been a while."

"Of course!" Italy grinned, opening the door wider to let him in.

* * *

Romano woke, having heard the front door shut, followed by muffled voices. He blinked his eyes clear and loosened his tense muscles as much as his bonds would allow, despite the pain of reopening his fresher wounds as he did so.

It had been two weeks since Italy first began this torment, two weeks of utter hell. Day after day, Italy would come and torture him, all the while smiling and laughing as if nothing was amiss. Day after day, he would scream in agony as his skin was carved into like clay. Day after day, Romano watched his little brother cut and stab him with knives, his magenta eyes wide with fascination.

The majority of his body was covered in wounds, some fully healed, some not, and hadn't bathed since he was captured. Lovino was a mess, both physically and mentally. He was fighting harder than he ever had before, but he feared he wasn't strong enough to last much longer. Part of him relished the thought, and part of him was terrified that he anticipated the day he would lose what sanity remained. If he had reached the point where he wished he would, maybe it was already happening.

Romano was about to let himself drift back to sleep when he heard a familiar laugh from downstairs, a laugh from the mouth of a man he wanted nothing more than to see. The man whom his memory of kept him sane when he was writhing in anguish. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

Romano struggled to sit upright, groaning as the throbbing of his wounds increased. The strips of sheet tied to his limbs rubbed uncomfortably on the abrasions on his ankles and wrists, but that didn't stop him from pulling against them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came forth was a hoarse croak. He hadn't spoken at all in over a week, and his throat was raw from screaming. Coughing in the hopes that it would help clear his throat up a bit, he spoke once more.

"Help." Romano wheezed, his voice hardly above a whisper. He took several deep breaths, exhausted from the meager effort it took to speak, and tried again.

* * *

Spain had been telling Italy about this year's tomato harvest when he heard it, a murmur of a voice calling for help. He held up a hand and glanced around, his brow creased in worry.

"Feli, did you hear that…?"

"Ve, hear what?" Italy smiled, Spain too oblivious to notice the dangerous gleam in his eyes or see how tense his grin was.

"It sounded like someone was calling for help…."

"It was probably just the wind." He said, standing. "Ve, well, I'll make sure Flavi gets the tomatoes and tell him they were from you."

Spain glanced at him, a little puzzled. "I thought I was going to stay until he got back...?"

"I just remembered I have a lot of chores to do, so it's probably best if you come back later." Italy smiled.

Spain nodded and stood, quite confused. "Sì, sorry to intrude."

"Ve, it's all right!" He laughed as he led him to the front door.

"Have a good day, Feli." Spain said, his smile faltering as he heard another cry for help. It was louder than before, and it sounded a lot like….

"Ve, arrivederci, Andres!" Italy called out before practically slamming the door in his face.

Spain turned away and started back down the road, glancing back at the Vargas house with a concerned gaze, as he could've sworn he heard someone screaming.

* * *

Romano strained against his bonds even more frantically than before, crying out for help as loud as his body would allow. He didn't know what was happening downstairs, or if Spain could hear him, but he wasn't going to stop until he was unable, or until Italy returned.

As if summoned by his brother's thoughts, he came into the room, his eyes wild with rage. Grabbing one of the knives on the dresser, Italy stormed over and stabbed it into the flesh a few inches above his knee, twisting the blade around viciously before pulling it free. Romano screamed and arched his back, clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth in agony.

"NO," Italy began, stabbing his other leg in the same way, "TALKING."

Romano screamed again and prayed that he would lose consciousness. It hurt, it hurt so badly, and all he wanted was for it to be over. He didn't care if it killed him anymore; he wanted the pain to stop.

"Kill m-me, please." He gasped, staring at him with pleading eyes. "Pl-please."

Italy moved and sat on the edge of his bed again, the spot apparently being his favorite. He looked directly into Romano's eyes, his stare empty and devoid of any emotion. Without a single word, he lifted the bloody knife and stabbed it into his throat.

Romano convulsed, gagging and gasping for breath as he was drowned by his own blood, which flowed freely into his lungs due to the damage the blade had done. A gurgled cry broke free from his mouth as he desperately tried to inhale, his eyes wide with panic, as no matter how hard he tried to breathe, he could never ease the burning desire for air.

Romano silently begged Italy to kill him, but he didn't react. He simply stared at him emptily, his discolored eyes vacant. He leaned his head back and clenched his eyes shut, his mouth open wide in a silent, endless cry as his entire body screamed for air. Romano lay, praying that his throat would heal itself quickly, as he didn't know how much longer he could stay strong enough to endure this.

* * *

 **A/N: Two short chapters in a row! I'M SO SORRY. The next one is almost twice as long, but I still feel rather bad! As much as I adore writing torture scenes (I'm not a serial killer, I promise.), I like to keep them shorter rather than longer as to not overwhelm people. (That, and one runs out of synonyms for 'pain', 'scream', 'knife', ect... a lot sooner than one would think.)**

 **Anyways, I hope you're enjoying Unwound! (You know, now that I think about it, that's a rather psycho thing to say after a scene like that...oops. Well, if I don't update for a long while, feel free to assume that it's because I've likely been admitted to a mental hospital by a concerned family member who stumbled upon this.) Leave a review? (: Thanks so much for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Spain chewed on his bottom lip as he stared at his phone, thrumming his fingers rhythmically against his kitchen table as he waited impatiently for it to ring.

That morning, he had called Romano, and Italy had picked up instead. He had promised to have Lovino call him back in a bit, but here he sat, six hours later, and nothing had happened. There was no reply to his texts, and when he got anxious enough to leave voicemails, there was no reply to those either.

Spain was beginning to grow worried, which made him uneasy, as he almost never got worried, he was always too oblivious to notice, or so he was told. Something seemed off about everything, and it was bothering him quite a bit. Wondering if he was being paranoid or not, he picked up his cell phone and dialed Germany's number, figuring if there was anyone who would know if anything was wrong with the Italy brothers, it would be him.

"Hallo?"

"Germany? Hola, it's me, Spain."

"Oh, hello, Spain," Germany said, his tone polite and professional. "Can I help you?"

"Sì, if you would be so kind." He replied. "Have you seen or heard from Romano lately?"

There was a brief pause. "Nein, I haven't."

"I haven't, either, and it's worrying me…. What about Italy? Has he seemed all right?"

Another pause. "Nein…. Now that you mention it, he has been avoiding my calls and hardly spoke to me at yesterday's meeting."

"Do you think something happened?"  
"I don't know. Has anything occurred to suggest something's wrong?"

"I went to visit Romano a few days ago, but he was at the market. As I was leaving, I thought I heard someone crying out for help. …Italy seemed a little eager for me to leave once I mentioned it, too, now that I think about it." Spain thrummed his fingers faster against the wood, growing a little anxious and wondering why he hadn't realized how weird things had been before.

"Maybe we are just over thinking things…but maybe we aren't. Either way, it would be wise to check things out. When's the soonest you can come to Italy?" Germany asked, his voice faltering ever so slightly in uncertainty.

"Now, actually." Spain stated, standing. "That isn't too soon, is it?"  
"Nein," Germany said, "Travel safely."

"You, too, amigo. Adiós." With that, Spain hung up and hurriedly threw on his shoes before grabbing his keys and leaving for Italy.

* * *

Germany had already arrived by the time Spain pulled up to the Vargas house, and was waiting rather uneasily inside his car. They met a few yards away from the porch, exchanging a silent greeting before going up to the door together, fidgeting anxiously despite their attempts to assume the best.

Spain knocked, chewing on his bottom lip again as he hoped Lovino would answer the door and yell at him for showing up uninvited again. He wouldn't even complain if…when he hit him, even though it would hurt, he would just be glad he was okay.

Several long moments later, just when he was about to knock again, the door opened, revealing a smiling Italian instead of a scowling one, which disappointed Spain a little more than it probably should have.

"Ve, Germany, Spain? What are you doing here?" Italy asked, tilting his head curiously. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I could have made more pasta to share with you!"

"Where's Romano?" Germany asked, his voice inflectionless. Something was horribly wrong, and he got the feeling saying or doing anything amiss wouldn't end well. Feliciano's eyes had changed color, and they were wide open. That alone was enough for him to be at least a little concerned, but something about Italy had changed, and whatever that was, it wasn't good.

"Fratello?" Italy shrugged. "Ve, who knows? He's been out a lot lately."

"May we come inside?" Germany asked, trying to remain as casual as possible without raising suspicion.

"Ve, I don't know if that's a good idea…I took a siesta today instead of cleaning the house and it's really messy." He giggled.

"We'll help you clean it, right, Spain?" Germany said, glancing back at him, his piercing blue eyes silently telling him to go along with it.

"Of course!" Spain smiled.

Italy hesitantly let them in and led them to the living room, where he proceeded to fiddle with the corner of his shirt, which Spain noticed was splattered with what looked a lot like blood.

"W-what's that on your shirt, Feli?" He asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Hm…?" Italy looked down, laughing a bit when he saw the stains. "Tomato sauce!"

Spain nodded and smiled again, though something warned him that those were most definitely not food stains.

"Italy, why haven't you been returning my calls?" Germany inquired nonchalantly.

"Ve, you've called me?"

Germany faltered a moment before nodding. "Ja, multiple times."

Italy simply laughed. "I guess I forgot to check my phone! I've been busy."

"Where's Romano?" Germany asked again, his expression unreadable.

Italy's smile slowly fell. "Why do you keep asking about Flavio?"

"Flavio?" Spain's eyes widened. "Dios mío…Ludwig, that's what he called him the other day."

Italy clenched his fists and glanced between the two of them, his eye twitching. "Stop talking."

"Italy, calm down, there's no need to get worked up." Germany said cautiously, subtly moving into a defensive stance and cursing inwardly when he realized he had forgotten his gun in his panic, not that he could have shot him.

"Stop talking!" Italy snapped, swiftly pulling a rather large knife out from nowhere and pointing it threateningly at Germany.

Spain, shocked, looked over at Ludwig and saw how distraught he was. He looked stunned, betrayed, and completely and utterly heartbroken.

"I-Italy-"

"Stop talking!" Italy shouted, surging forward and attempting to stab Germany. He was able to dodge him in time, but it wasn't more than a second later before he tried to stab him again.

"Spain, find Romano!" Germany ordered, evading Italy's attacks with unexpected difficulty. "Don't worry about us, just find him!"

Spain nodded and dashed away, glancing back at the two nations as he ran up the stairs, hoping Germany would be all right. He threw open the first door, finding nothing but an empty room. Moving onto the second, he was greeted by yet another vacant room. It wasn't until the fourth that he found whom he was looking for, and when he did, he almost wished he hadn't.

The sight before him immediately brought tears to his eyes, and if not for his experiences with gruesome sights during wars, he would have thrown up. There was blood everywhere. _Everywhere_. The mattress was soaked ruby red, the once pristine walls sprayed with crimson, and the floor littered with garnet pools both new and old.

While the room itself was a ghastly sight that he almost couldn't bear to see, it took every ounce of willpower in his body not to look away from the nation whose blood painted the floors upon which he stood. Romano lay, unmoving, on his bed, each of his limbs tied to the bedposts by blood-soaked strips of sheets to keep him from escaping. His once perfectly tan skin was now marred by countless cuts and gashes, his flesh mangled and slashed.

A sob broke free from Spain's lips and he stumbled forward, unable to comprehend the horrors he was witnessing. His Lovino, his precious, beloved Lovino whom he had sacrificed so much for and adored more than anything in the world, had been tortured to the point where he was virtually unrecognizable.

Antonio pressed a hand to his mouth, gasping in sorrow when he neared close enough to see the details of what Italy had done to him, and he had to look away, unable to bear seeing the aftermath of the pain he had endured. He, with a shuddering sob, grasped the nearest knife and began to cut Romano's bonds, his vision blurred by tears.

It didn't take long for Spain to free him, and when he did, he wiped his cheeks and forced himself to calm himself, despite how much he wanted to break down and cry. He had to be strong right now, for Romano.

Spain stepped back a bit, not quite knowing what to do. He couldn't just carry him the way he was; he wasn't wearing anything but blood-soaked boxers and had nothing to protect his wounds.

"Is he alive?"

Spain spun around, startled by the sudden voice. Germany stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame as he clutched his abdomen. His face was strained with pain.

"Germany! What happened?" He rushed over to him. "Where's Italy?"

"He stabbed me." Germany answered, his voice laced with pain.

"Dios mio…Are you okay, amigo?"

"Ja, I'll be fine." His eyes flickered to Romano's limp figure. "Is he okay?"

Spain shook his head grimly. "He's alive, though, so that's good."

"I wouldn't say being alive is a good thing in his situation." Germany shuddered a bit, whether from Romano's state or his wound, he didn't know.

"Where do they keep fresh sheets?" Spain asked, figuring wrapping him in one was the best way to not worsen his condition.

"I'll get one," Germany began, turning away, "you stay with him."

"But you're hurt!"  
"I've had worse than this." Ludwig replied, leaving before he could protest any further.

Spain sighed a listened to Germany's footsteps for a few seconds before turning back to where Romano lay. Tears brimmed his eyes and his bottom lip quavered dangerously, but somehow, he was able to refrain from crying.

He walked over and gently caressed Lovino's cheek. His face was virtually untouched, the only mark being a long, pale scar across his right cheek. It must have been one of the first carved into him, seeing as it was fully healed. Spain swallowed the aching lump in his throat and kissed the scar on Romano's face, making a silent promise that he would do all he could to help him and wordlessly apologizing for not being there to prevent this from happening.

Antonio stroked Romano's hair, not noticing nor caring that it hadn't been washed in who knew how long. He was just glad to be able to do it again, even more so having realized how close he had been to losing him forever.

"Here," Germany said, startling him from his thoughts as he extended the sheet out to him.

"Gracias." Spain answered. He took the sheet and unfolded it, grasping it tightly in his hands as he pondered what to do. He glanced at Germany, suddenly worried. "Where's Feliciano?"

"Downstairs. I was forced to knock him out and then tied him up for good measure." He answered, avoiding his gaze.

Spain nodded and turned back to Romano, carefully lifting each of his limbs one at a time and inching the sheet under him so he could wrap him up in it. "What do you think happened?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," Germany answered, "but there's one thing I'm certain of. That isn't Feliciano."  
Spain paused a moment and looked at him, confused. "He was a look alike? But how-"

Germany shook his head. "Not a look alike, nein. It's Italy's body, but it most certainly isn't his mind."

"How's that possible?" He asked, resuming his work with the sheet.

"I don't know. But it wasn't Feliciano. He wouldn't have…." Germany trailed off.

Spain nodded, not really knowing what to think of the situation. He was still in shock from it all, and his mind had yet to figure out how to react. Having successfully gotten the sheet underneath Romano's body, he carefully wrapped it around his front, leaving his head out of the white cocoon.

"Where are you going to take him?" Germany spoke, sounding rather dazed.

"To my house. I can't very well take care of him here, and I doubt he's going to want to be anywhere near Italy or this house anytime soon." Spain stated, very carefully lifting Romano, one arm under his legs, the other across his back.

Germany nodded and helped him get Romano downstairs in what ways his injured body could. He claimed he was all right, but Spain could see the pain in his eyes. He may be excruciatingly oblivious to most things, but he always knew when someone was upset or hurt.

"What are you going to do about him?" Spain asked when they were outside, nodding back to the house in which Italy resided.

"I don't know." Germany said quietly, opening the passenger door of Spain's car for him and reclining the seat back to make it easier to get Romano inside.

"Isn't there anyone who can help?" He continued, gently laying Romano's limp figure in the seat.

"I don't know." Germany repeated with a heavy sigh. "I have no idea what to do…."

"Do you want me to stay here and help you? I can ask France to take care of Lovino for a while until we get this sorted out." Spain offered, hoping he would decline. It wasn't that he didn't want to help, quite the contrary, he just felt obliged to stay with Romano.

"Nein, you need to focus on him for the time being, don't worry about anything else."

"Let me know as soon as you learn anything, all right?" Spain closed the door and faced him. "And don't hesitate to ask for my help."

"Ja, I will." Germany nodded, taking out his phone. "I'm going to call Japan, so I shouldn't be in any need of help as long as he's able and willing."

"Ludwig," Spain said, his tone a mixture of sadness and understanding. "Please, take it easy. You're hurt, you need time to heal."

Germany looked at him, his eyes desperate and glassy. "I can't," was all he said.

Spain didn't need any further explanation, as he had a fragment of an idea of how utterly distraught Germany was feeling. He nodded sadly and touched his arm sympathetically as he walked around to the driver's side of his car.

"Good luck, amigo." He stated, looking Ludwig concernedly as he started the engine.

"You as well, Antonio. Keep me updated on his condition, ja?" Germany said, his tone mingled with guilt.

Spain nodded, and with that, departed, leaving him and Germany to mourn in silence.

* * *

 **A/N: Finally (okay not really 'finally', it's only been like two chapters), Romano is safe! ( _Or is he...?_ )**

 **Hope you liked chapter six!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Romano awoke to the aroma of coffee. He didn't move or open his eyes, wanting to be left alone by Italy for as long as possible. His brother wouldn't bother him while he slept, and he had started taking advantage of that by pretending to be asleep for a little while after he woke up. These minutes were the only fractals of peace he could get, and he wanted to gather as many as he could.

Romano had been laying there for almost a full minute when he realized something was different. He was wearing clothes, and his limbs were no longer bound. Gasping, he jerked upright, wincing as his stiff and sore body expressed its displeasure at the action by sending jolts of pain through him.

He looked around frantically, searching for something to defend himself with Italy returned. Why he had untied, bathed, and clothed him, he didn't know, nor did he care. All he cared about was escaping. Romano scrambled off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thump when his legs gave out. He grimaced, the fall jarring his injuries.

Hurried footsteps neared the room he was in, and Romano barely had time to grab the lamp off the nightstand to defend himself before the door opened. He held the lamp out in front of him, his hands shaking as he cowered into the nearest corner to get away from Italy before he hurt him again.

But the man that stood in the doorway wasn't Italy. It was Spain.

"Lovino…." He whispered, his emerald eyes filled with sorrow.

Romano didn't lower the lamp. He simply sat there, shaking violently as his mind attempted to comprehend the situation. Was this a dream, or had he really been rescued?

"Lovi, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." He spoke softly, walking toward him slowly as to not overwhelm him. "It's okay, you're safe now."

Romano didn't move, not until Spain had knelt on the floor in front of him and he saw his kind, green eyes up close. He saw the genuine sadness in them and set down the lamp. He saw the loving concern in them and threw himself into his arms, sobbing.

Romano clutched him tightly, crying harder than he had in a long, long time. Spain stroked his hair as he sobbed, whispering reassurances in his ear, telling him repeatedly that he was safe.

* * *

It was almost twenty minutes before Romano calmed down, and even then, he still shook and had trouble walking, so Spain carried him. The two of them had moved to the living room and now sat in silence. Romano was curled up into a ball on the couch, and Spain was next to him, his hands wrung together as he watched him sadly.

"What happened, Lovi?" Spain asked in as gentle a tone as he could.

Romano's breathing increased and he clenched his fists in distress. He hadn't been able to speak since Italy stabbed him in the throat. After hours of the agonizing feeling of drowning, he was able to breathe again, only to discover that the blade had done permanent damage to his vocal chords. Whereas the nations' bodies healed miraculously quickly, not every injury could be repaired, and this was one of them. He was going to be mute for the rest of his life.

Spain panicked a little. "No, no, it's okay, you don't have to say, it's okay."

Romano nodded shakily, staring down at his arms, looking away when he saw the bandages wrapped around them. What skin he could see was scarred, and it disgusted him.

"Can I get you anything?" Spain asked, his usually cheerful tone heavy with grief.

Romano was about to shake his head again when he nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the world he could see outside the window.

"What can I get you?" He said, standing eagerly.

Romano held out his quavering hands and mimed writing, hoping he would get the message. Spain seemed to, as he left after telling him he'd be back in a moment.

Lovino crossed his arms over his knees and carefully rested his head against his forearms, a shiver running through his body as he was once again plagued by the horrors of what he had endured at the hands of Italy. Why? Why had he betrayed him like that? He had always known Feliciano had a tendency to make the wrong choice when stressed out, but this was different. He had tortured him every day for two weeks, all the while smiling and laughing as he talked to him as if nothing was wrong.

Romano sacrificed everything for his brother, and had done all he could to keep him safe. Truthfully, he wasn't the best sibling he could've been, but did his best, even though it sometimes destroyed him.

The pain of never being acknowledged by anyone as being as important as North Italy had grown, as with the pain of not being acknowledged period. He, as much as it hurt, had gotten used to living in the shadow of the nation he had, in a way, helped learn to stand. Lovino was accustomed to being seen as the less important personification of Italy. It hadn't been too hard to get used to, as even when they were children, Feliciano was always the one people pined over. He was perfect, he could sing, dance, draw, make people smile and laugh, and everything else that made a person desirable to befriend. Everyone preferred Veneziano to Romano. Even Grandpa Rome had.

Whereas all that hurt like hell, Lovino had learned to bear it. He'd been through so much already; he thought he would be able to endure anything the bitch known as life threw at him. But having experienced what he did in the past two weeks, he realized just how wrong he had been.

Romano was broken. Shattered. Traumatized. Just the thought of Feliciano made him want to throw up. The sound of his name made him cringe. The memory of his smile made him want to cry in fear. His brother had betrayed his trust in the worst way possible, and Lovino was far from all right.

"Here," Spain said, startling him out of his thoughts as he extended a notepad and pen toward him, "will this do?"

Romano nodded and took them from him, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down before he pressed the tip of the pen to the paper and began to write.

 _'What happened?'_ he wrote, his usually elegant handwriting sloppy. His hand wouldn't stop shaking no matter how hard he tried to still it.

Spain read what he had written and took a deep, shuddering breath before he spoke. "It all started the other day when I went to bring you a basket of tomatoes because I hadn't seen you in a while. Italy said you weren't there, so I came back home. Yesterday, I called and Italy told me he'd have you call me back in a little while. When you didn't, I tried to get a hold of either of you, and when there was no reply, I got worried. I called Germany and asked him if he knew if everything was all right, and we decided to go to check things out together.

"When we arrived, Italy tried to attack us, so Germany was forced to fight him. He was stabbed, but he seems to be doing all right. I went upstairs and found you in your room…." He trailed off, his eyes brimming with tears. "You were in really bad shape, Lovi, I was so scared…."

 _'I'm fine.'_ Romano jotted down. It was far from true, but he didn't want Spain to worry.

"You don't have to pretend for me." Spain said quietly. "I know you aren't fine, and that's okay."

Romano shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to say to that. His heart was filled with too many emotions already, his mind crammed up with so many unspoken words.

"Why aren't you speaking, Lovino?" Spain asked gently, as if afraid to frighten him by speaking too harshly.

Romano looked away, his hand reflexively reaching up to cover the scar on his upper throat. He didn't want to tell him, he didn't want to make him any more upset than he already was. But those were only excuses, and he knew it. His main reason was fear. He didn't want to accept that he was voiceless, he couldn't. Words were his only weapon, and without them, he was defenseless.

"Lovino," Spain prompted, "it's okay. You can tell me anything, I promise I won't hurt you.

Romano clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want to have to be dealing with this now. All he wanted to do was be held and protected by Spain, just as he had done when he had been a child and awoken in the middle of the night, terrified from a nightmare. He wanted to avoid the truth in the hopes that it could somehow alter the past.

Romano wrote the words on the notepad, opening his eyes to see the words he wished weren't true. _'I can't speak.'_

Spain glanced at the sentence and looked at him, his expression soft and sad. "It's okay to, Lovi, he can't hurt you anymore. Germany said you might be afraid to talk because-"

Romano shook his head, interrupting him. He hesitated a moment before lifting his chin to expose his neck a little more, pointing to the barely scarred over wound on his throat. Then he pointed to what he wrote again.

His eyes widened in realization. "Dios mío. You…. He…." Spain burst into tears, burying his face in his hands.

Romano broke down as well, resting his head on his forearms again. He couldn't stand seeing Spain upset, and felt guilty that it was his fault he was crying. He couldn't soothe him with comforting, albeit a little harsh, words anymore, and he had a difficult time instigating affectionate gestures such as hugging. Without his voice, he felt twice as useless as he usually did.

"Lo siento, Lovino." Spain murmured.

Romano looked up and met his gaze, feeling another stab of guilt when he saw how utterly devastated he looked. Not bothering to dry his cheeks, he grabbed the pen again.

' _Why the hell are you apologizing? You haven't done anything.'_ he wrote, showing it to him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop this from happening." Spain answered, his voice breaking slightly.

Romano set down the notepad and pen, shaking his head and moving to hug the Spaniard, not knowing what else to do. Antonio very hesitantly hugged him back, his touch even more gentle than usual, as if he was afraid to hurt him.

Romano didn't want to think about why. He didn't want to think about anything anymore, not about why he couldn't speak, or about why his entire body throbbed in unison. He wanted to forget. He wanted things to go back to the way they once were.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Germany ran a hand through his hair, not caring that he was disheveling it even more by doing so. He splashed cold water on his face and dried it with a towel, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like hell. There were faint, dark circles under his eyes and his skin was unusually pale. He had almost completely mended bruises on his jaw from his struggle with Italy last night, and his usually stony eyes did nothing to conceal his pain and worry.

He sighed heavily and stood upright, grimacing. His injury had barely healed, likely because he hadn't slept since the night before. He, ignoring the pain in his abdomen, walked to the kitchen to make breakfast for Italy, who he was holding in the guest room. Tying him up and making sure he had no way of escape had been far more painful than he anticipated, difficult, too, with the hindrance of working with a stab wound in addition to bleary eyes.

Germany didn't bother making something complex, just a simple plate of eggs and toast. He didn't make anything for himself, as he wasn't hungry and probably wouldn't have been able to eat even if he was. Taking a deep breath, he took up the plate and a glass of water and set them on a tray, which he carried under his left arm, and made his way toward the room where Italy was bound.

He arrived all too quickly and stood at the door for a long moment. Germany wasn't ready to face him, to acknowledge what had happened. He was scared.

Taking another deep breath, he scraped up what little courage he had left at the moment and opened the door.

"Germany!" Italy spoke the second he walked inside, his voice panicked. "I'm scared! Why am I tied up?"

Germany looked at him, his expression hardening when he saw that his eyes were still magenta. The second he saw them yesterday, he knew that something was horribly wrong, and looking into the same, unfamiliar eyes today, he got the same anxious, slightly fearful feeling. He set the tray on the dresser, facing away from Italy.

"Quit with the act." He stated firmly. "I know you aren't Feliciano."

It was a few seconds before he replied. "Ve, Lutz, what are you talking about? Of course I am!"

"Stop," Germany said, clenching his fists in agitation, "I know you aren't. You wouldn't ever hurt Romano. Or me. Your eyes are brown, not magenta. My name isn't Lutz and your brother's isn't Flavio. You are not Feliciano Vargas. Who the hell are you and what did you do to him?"

"Stop talking."

Germany faced him, a little taken aback by his rapid mood shift. "Excuse me?"  
"Stop talking!" He shouted.

"Not until you tell me what you did to Feliciano."  
"I am! I am Luciano!" Italy cried.

Germany turned away, unable to be in the same room as him any longer. He closed the door behind him, ignoring Italy's shouting as he walked to the living room. He took up the phone, having no idea what to do. Whatever was happening, he wasn't the person who could figure it out, much less fix it, so he dialed the number of someone who might be able.

"Why are you calling me?" England's voice asked the moment he picked up, not even bothering with formalities. He still held a grudge against him from World War Two, and was slightly less than civil toward him outside of formal events.

"I need your help." Germany answered, not caring how pathetic he might have sounded to the Brit.

"You need my help?" He repeated, sounding a bit taken aback.

"Something's happened with Italy and you're the only person I can think of who might have any idea what's going on."

"What the bloody hell makes you think I can help?"

"It's very difficult to explain." Germany thrummed his fingers against the couch's armrest anxiously, growing a little desperate. "I know I'm in no position to be asking you any favors, England, but I'm begging you. Please try to help him." He should have felt humiliated having been reduced to the point of begging, but right now, he didn't care if he had to kneel before him and lick his shoes. If it would help Italy, he would do anything.

There was a long pause before England replied. "What's wrong with him?"

"As I said, it's difficult to explain." He took a deep breath and said very quietly, "It's almost as if he's gone insane."

There was another long pause. "Is there anything about his appearance that's changed?"  
"Ja, his eyes. They're magenta."

"Bollocks…I'm on my way now." England said, sounding rather unnerved. "Don't interact with him any more than you already have, he could be dangerous. Is he contained?"

Germany didn't like the way he worded that, 'contained' made it sound like Italy was some sort of rabid animal. "He's tied up in a room."

"Good. Whatever he says, don't let him go. Are you in Germany or Italy?"  
"Germany."

"Very well, then. I'll be there as soon as possible." England said, hanging up before Ludwig could thank him or bid farewell.

Germany took a deep breath and set his phone down, massaging his temples with his index and middle fingers, and waited impatiently for England to arrive.

* * *

Hours later, when Germany was on the brink of insanity from having to wait so long, England finally knocked on his door. Jumping up, he hurried to the door and opened it, never having been happier to see the scowling Brit as he was right now.

"Please, come in." Germany said, gesturing inside.

England nodded and entered, his movements rigid and a little awkward. Germany closed the door and turned to him, about to offer him something to drink when the nation spoke.

"Tell me everything that's happened." He stated.

Germany nodded, took a deep breath, and told him all he knew about the situation. By the time he had finished, England's emerald eyes were wide with shock, and remained that way for several moments before he composed himself.

"Bloody hell, it's worse than I thought…." He ran a hand over his face. "How long has he been like this?"  
"I don't know." Germany answered. "I think it may have started around the time of the most recent Axis and Allies meeting…I was supposed to go over for dinner a few days after that, but Italy cancelled saying they had been called into work. He also called me 'Lutzy'. At the time, I thought it was simply another weird nickname, but now…. What do you think is wrong with him?"

"All right, this is going to sound a little crazy…." England trailed off and then rolled his eyes. "Is there somewhere we can sit? I'd rather not stand in the middle of the foyer and converse."

"Of course." Germany led the way to the living room and gestured for him to sit as he sat on the couch. He ran a hand through his hair and swallowed, his throat dry and uncomfortably tight.

England sat and took a deep breath, letting it out with a heavy sigh. "As I was saying, this is going to sound a little crazy."

Germany nodded for him to go on.

"There are alternate universes," he stated bluntly, "hundreds, if not, thousands of them. Few people are aware of them, so don't be shocked that this is the first you've heard of the matter. In some universes, the differences between their world and ours is nearly unnoticeable, others, not so much. However, most universes are all fundamentally the same. Despite this, they seldom correspond or even are conscious of each other. Very rarely do worlds clash with one another, and it's even more rare to have something like this happen."

"What do you mean, 'something like this'?" Germany asked, a thousand other questions swirling about in his mind.  
"The universe closest to ours is not a friendly one. I've dealt with its inhabitants from time to time over the years, in very minor ways not worthy of depicting, never anything this big." England met Germany's gaze, his expression grim. "If what I suspect to be happening is actually occurring-"

"Just spit it out!" Germany snapped, growing tired of listening to him dance around the point.

"From what you've told me, it seems as though Italy's mind has somehow merged with his alternate universe's counterpart." He stated. "His name is Luciano Vargas and he's the most dangerous nation in their universe."

Germany gasped softly, suddenly feeling very lightheaded. "How…?"

"I don't know." England said, sounding oddly sad.

"Can you fix it? Can you bring Feliciano back?"

"I'm going to try. This hasn't ever happened before, so I have no idea what to expect or quite how to go about reversing it. However, there are some things I could try that might work."

"Like what?" Germany asked, concerned for Feliciano's safety.

"I'd rather not discuss my magic. You wouldn't be able to understand, even if I did tell you." England said, standing. "If I may, I'd like to get started as soon as possible."

Germany nodded and stood, eyeing the old looking duffle bag England had been carrying since he arrived distrustfully as he escorted him to the guest room.  
"Let me know if you need anything." He stated, stepping away to give him access.

"I'll call for you by your human name if I do. He appears to be confused, and if he's calling you 'Lutzy', there's a probability he doesn't know your real name. He might try to call out to you to help him, but don't listen. No matter what you hear, only come if it's my voice calling you 'Ludwig', understood?"

"Understood."  
England nodded and with that, went inside and closed the door behind him, leaving Germany alone in the hall to pray that whatever he was going to do would work.

* * *

 **A/N: Two chapters left! I hope you've all enjoyed the story so far and like how it ends. (:**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Feliciano woke, groaning as he was tormented by a horrible throbbing in his head. He was exhausted, and felt quite similar to how he did after Germany's training sessions, if not worse. He waited a few moments for the pounding to subside before he opened his eyes, and when he did, he was extremely confused.

England was standing in front of him, his brow creased in what looked like a mix of wariness and concern. He looked around at his surroundings, recognizing it as Germany's guest room. Both of those things were puzzling, but what confused Italy most was his state of being. He was tied up, and his clothes had blood on them. He strained against his bonds, his breathing coming quicker as he began to panic.

"Hey, hey, calm down." England said, putting a hand on his shoulder to help soothe him. "It's all right."

"What-what's going on?" Italy asked, still trying to break free from the ropes that bound his limbs.

"Just calm down, I'll explain in a moment. First, I need to ask you something, all right?" Italy nodded, still quite panicked, and England continued. "What's your name?"

"Northern Italy, Feliciano Vargas." He answered, despite his confusion. "What-"

"Ludwig!" England called out, taking a pocketknife out of a bag on the floor and using it to cut the ropes binding him.

"Ludwig?" Italy asked, calming down a bit at the sound of his name. He paused when he reached to rub the slight abrasions on his arms, shocked to see that his hands were stained with blood.

Germany burst into the room, his anxious gaze relaxing a little when he looked at Italy's face. "Mein Gott…your eyes."

"Ve, my eyes…?" Italy looked between England and Germany, wondering what on Earth was going on. That was when he noticed Ludwig clutching his abdomen, the faintest trace of pain in his eyes. "Ludwig…you're hurt!"  
Germany looked away, and Italy's confusion tripled. What happened to him?

"Italy," England began, cutting the ropes on his legs and standing, "there's a lot to be explained, and you need to be calm, all right?"

Italy stood, a little shakily, and nodded, staring at Germany in concern.

"Good." England picked up an open spell book from the ground and put in in his bag, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder before turning to Germany. "Do you want me to explain it to him, or do you want to do it yourself?"

"I'd prefer it if you explained." He replied quietly.

"Very well then." England gestured for them to follow him as he left and walked to the living room.

Italy and Germany reluctantly complied, glancing nervously at one another as they sat down.

"What if he comes back?" Germany asked England.

Arthur shook his head. "He won't. I've put a protective spell on him. I didn't even know this was possible before now…."

"What if who comes back?" Italy asked. "And didn't know what was possible?"  
England sighed and met his inquisitive gaze. "No questions until I'm finished, please. I hate being interrupted."

Italy nodded quickly, and England began to speak. He briefly explained the concept of alternate universes and informed him how they work. Then, he told them about the one closest to theirs. He spoke of how on rare occasions, the two worlds collide in the most subtle of ways.

"A few weeks ago, our worlds nearly touched, as they do every few decades. When that happens, our counterparts usually only interfere with us in minor ways, ways we wouldn't notice unless it was pointed out, like being in a cross mood, stubbing your toe, things like that. It seems that our worlds came far too close this time, allowing something I didn't even fathom was possible to happen." England ran a hand over his face, shaking his head in disbelief. "Italy, your counterpart, Luciano, took over your body for roughly two weeks. He…he's evil, and before you're told happened, I need you to understand that it was not your fault, and there was nothing you could've done to prevent it."

"What…?" Italy whispered, dumbstruck. "But I don't remember…."

"The spell I used to send him back to his universe erased both your memories." He explained.

"Y-you said he was…evil…." Italy murmured. "What happened?"

England looked away and stood. "It's best if Germany explains that bit. I have to go back home to cast another spell to protect everyone from this occurring again, which I should do as soon as possible." He grabbed his bag.

"Thank you." Germany said, standing to take him to the door. "I can't say enough how much I-"

England interrupted him before he could finish. "I know. Please, spare me of the groveling." He sighed, sounding almost sympathetic toward him. "I can show myself out, by the way. …good luck." With that, he left, not sparing either of them a backward glance as he walked away.

Italy and Germany sat in silence for several long moments after the front door shut, both of them wondering if they should wait for the other to speak first or take it upon themselves to do so.

"What happened?" Italy finally asked, his voice so quiet, he hardly heard himself speak.

Germany met his gaze, his eyes bearing a look Italy had never seen before. It terrified him. "As England said, Luciano took over your body…. He…did some bad things."

Italy nodded, too shaken to speak.  
"He captured Romano," Germany continued, "and he tortured him."

The moment the words left his lips, Italy's world was fractured and shattered into a thousand pieces. He didn't feel the throbbing of his head any longer, nor the slight aching of his body. All he felt was pure, unadulterated grief.

"Spain and I went to your house last night to find out what was wrong, and we discovered that Luciano had tied him up and had been hurting him for about two weeks. Spain went to find Romano, and I fought your counterpart," he said, gesturing to his abdomen, where a slash in his dirty, bloody shirt just barely showed the bandage covering the stab wound, "that's how I got this."

Italy covered his agape mouth with his hand, utterly horrified that the two people he cared about the most had been hurt. "Where is Lovi…?" he murmured.

"He's with Spain." Germany replied, his voice tight.

"I need to go see him."

"I'm sorry, Feliciano, but I don't think that's a good idea right now…."

"Why not?" He asked, his eyes brimming with tears. "He's my fratello."

Germany looked at him, his expression one of utmost empathy. "He's in bad shape, and I don't want you to see him like that. Not to mention…."

"Not to mention what?" Italy asked, his voice quavering.

Germany hesitated a long moment before replying. "Italy, it was you he saw doing those things to him."

It took him a few seconds to realize what he meant by that, and when he did, the tears threatening to spill over his eyes flowed freely down his cheeks and he began to sob. Germany's words made him understand just how much damage had been caused. Romano thought it was Feliciano torturing him, and from the way things were sounding, he was afraid of him.

Germany stood and hurried to his side to comfort him, but Italy didn't listen to his attempts to soothe his misery. The pain eating away at his heart was far too great to be alleviated by a hug and gentle words. His brother had been tortured and traumatized, and there wasn't a single thing anyone could say or do to make that all right.

* * *

 **A/N: One chapter left! I'll put it up within the next few days. (:**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Romano took a deep breath and stared at his body in the mirror, forcing his eyes to look over each pale scar. He had tried to count them at least thrice since it happened, but there were too many. It had taken three weeks for all his wounds to heal, and though his mental state had improved a bit since that time, his PTSD remained, and it didn't show any signs of relenting soon.

Not long after he had been rescued, Germany had called Spain and informed them what had happened. Apparently, there were other universes with personified nations similar to them, and one of the worlds had gotten too close to theirs. Feliciano's counterpart, Luciano, had used this opportunity to take over his body. Whereas Spain was elated to hear that it wasn't actually Feliciano who had tortured Lovino, Romano was wary. How could he not be? England had supposedly figured all this out, and he'd sooner kiss France than play along with that stupid hallucinating moron's antics. Not to mention that the things Italy had said had been so like him….

A knock on his door startled Romano back to reality and he hurriedly threw on a pair of pants and a t-shirt. He didn't want Spain to see that he was staring at his scars again, he worried about him enough as is, and it was always worse when he caught him looking at them.

"I'm coming in, Lovi." Spain called out softly. He had been so gentle toward him in the past three weeks, especially when he spoke. Romano was rather touched by it, but, as usual, made no effort to tell him.

Spain opened the door, bearing his ever-present smile, and walked over to hug him. Romano returned the embrace, wanting a hug too badly to be stubborn and reject it.

Spain pulled away after a moment, looking at him concernedly with his beautiful green eyes. "We can wait longer, if you want. You don't have to see him today."

Romano shook his head firmly. He wanted to back out of this so badly, but he knew he couldn't run forever. He would have to face his brother again sometime.

"Are you sure?"

Romano nodded. It was a lot easier to agree to things with gestures than it was with words, he had discovered. Though it was liberating, it was far from worth the price.

Spain nodded and kissed his forehead, making him blush faintly. "They'll be here within the hour. If you start to feel another panic attack coming or want them to leave, don't hesitate to tell me, all right?"

Romano nodded again, stepping forward and hugging him tightly. He had become less reluctant to reciprocate affection toward the Spaniard in the past few weeks, telling himself that it was for his sake, adamantly denying that it was more for his own, even though they both knew that wasn't true.

* * *

Italy bounced his leg anxiously as Germany pulled into Spain's driveway, more nervous to see Romano again than excited. What if he hated him…?

"Feliciano," Germany shut off the car and looked at him empathetically, "everything's going to be fine, all right?"

"But what if-"

Germany shook his head, interrupting him. "Feli, it'll be okay. I promise."  
Italy nodded and lurched forward, hugging him tightly for a moment before getting out of the car, clasping his shaking hands nervously as they walked to the front door.

Spain opened it before they had a chance to knock, grinning, albeit a little sadly, when he saw Italy.

"It's so good to see you again, mi amigo!" He hugged him briefly, stepping aside to let them in. "Lovi's in the living room."

Italy nodded, walking inside and nervously waiting for Spain to lead the way there. He knew the house quite well by now and could very well have gone there himself, but he wasn't exactly eager to see how Romano would react, and wanted to delay as much as possible.

Germany placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, Italy hardly noticing the gesture. Spain shut the door and walked toward the living room, and very hesitantly, he followed, Ludwig right behind him.

Romano was sitting on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest and his gaze fixated on the floor. His hazel eyes were devoid of the fervor that had always burned in them, they lacked the same exuberance they had always borne, and it broke Italy's heart. He was a lot thinner than he was when he saw him last, and his hair was unkempt and longer than he liked to keep it. His usual scowl was gone, replaced by a numb, vacant expression.

But worse than any of that was Romano's skin, on which there were scars everywhere. Some long and some short, some prominent and some faint, some thick and some thin, some curved and some straight. They were all different, not one looking identical to another. They had only one thing in common. Italy's gaze fell and stared down at his palms. They had all been put there by his hands.

Feliciano gasped softly and Lovino looked up, flinching and tightening his grip around his legs the moment they met eyes. His expression was a mixture between anxiety and distrust, and it made Italy's eyes brim with tears of devastation. There was a scar on the right side of Romano's cheek, one that they all knew would never fade. When a nation hurt another nation, the scars never disappeared, no matter how much time passed.

"Lovino…." He murmured, walking toward him slowly, not wanting to make his fear any worse. When he was about a yard away, Romano shrank back, his eyes full of panic. Italy stopped and stumbled backward, shocked and hurt by his reaction.

"He's still a little shaken." Spain explained, his voice sad.

Italy nodded, sitting in the chair furthest from his brother. Romano relaxed a little, clearly relieved to have him less near.

"H-how have you been, fratello?" Italy asked quietly, looking up at him and swallowing the lump of tears in his throat. Romano looked away, staying silent.

"Lovino?" he prompted gently.

"Did Germany not tell you…?" Spain said, glancing at the blonde nation.

Ludwig shook his head. "I couldn't bring myself to."  
"Tell me what?" Italy asked fearfully.

Spain turned to face him, his expression grim. "His throat was injured quite badly."

"What?" He whispered.

"He won't ever speak again, Feli." Spain answered quietly.

That was it. What composure Italy had left broke at hearing those words. His brother, who had already been through so much, had to endure two weeks of utter hell, and now this? It was too much.

Spain and Germany hurried over to comfort him, but he didn't listen. Their words would change nothing. Even though he hadn't been in control of his body, it had still done such horrible things to Romano, and now he was too traumatized to so much as look at him without flinching. Even worse than that, he had lost his voice, the thing Italy knew he depended on the most.

It wasn't until Germany and Spain stopped that Italy looked up. Through his blurred eyes, he saw Romano standing in front of the chair he sat in, his expression strained. As much as he wanted to, Feliciano made no move to hug him, remembering what Spain said about him being shaken up. He didn't want to make anything worse than it already was.

Before he could speak, Romano practically shoved a notepad in his hands, revealing a sentence written in sloppily elegant handwriting. _'Stop crying, damn it.'_

Italy opened his mouth to reply, but was hugged by Lovino before he could speak. His arms were hesitant and loose around him, as if he wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't jump up and strike him like a snake. It wasn't the same as their embraces usually were, but it was a hug nonetheless, and for that, Feliciano was immensely grateful. After all that Romano had been through, it was a miracle that he was willing to look at him, much less touch him.

The embrace had been brief and slightly tense, and Lovino had returned to his spot on the couch directly afterward, but it was better than any hug Italy had ever received before.

* * *

It was almost a decade before Romano moved back into the house he used to share with Italy, and even longer before he finally was able to start trusting his brother again. Even though several years had passed since the horrible memories that still plagued his nightmares had been made, Romano would be lying if he said he was fully recovered. He still had panic attacks and would, on very rare occasions, spend a few nights at Spain's house to escape his terror on the rare instances when it returned.

Though it was still a long road until full recovery, Lovino was getting a little better each day, and to Antonio and Feliciano, that's all that mattered.

* * *

 **A/N: The ending's a little abrupt, I know, but I hope you liked it nonetheless! (: This fic was SO much fun to write, and I hope you all had half as fun reading it as I did writing it! Thank you to all who reviewed and followed/favorited, I appreciate it very much! :D**

 **(Oh, and I apologize profusely; I said this would be out a few days after chapter nine, but I completely forgot to update until now! Again, I'm sorry, and I hope it was worth the wait!)**


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